In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust

I started last fall and finished a few weeks ago. I had read it as a young man and am so glad to have read it again. The endless jealously in relationships and obsession with social status that I found baffling and annoying in my first read I now see as more true to life that I knew, and also that Proust is laughing at it and eventually rises above it through transforming it into art.